By late afternoon, Margaret had returned home with Caleb and Evelyn. She removed her shoes in the kitchen and sat at the familiar oak table while Caleb brought her tea. The day's events replayed in pieces: Brad's contempt, Hank's kindness, Tyler's sandwich, the old Buick waiting beneath its cover. But the moment that stayed with her most was the sight of Tyler staring at his grandmother's name.
"We nearly lost something important," she told Caleb.
"The company?"
"The reason for having one."
He sat across from her. "We'll fix it."
"I hope so. But I don't want you to mistake one dramatic day for repair. Today was discovery. The real work starts tomorrow."
Caleb nodded. He knew she was speaking partly to him. Family-owned businesses could become insulated from uncomfortable information just as easily as publicly traded corporations. Directors brought their owners reassuring summaries, managers prepared impressive tours, and employees learned which concerns were worth the trouble of reporting. He had been proud of the company's growth without spending enough time asking how that growth felt to someone arriving through the front doors with an ordinary paycheck.
"I'll be at Crestline early," he said. "Evelyn is arranging independent interviews. Dana agreed to make her department records available."
"And Tyler?"
"He went home. He called his mother on the way and I think he was crying, though he tried to hide it. Luis is scheduling the Buick for inspection."
Margaret looked toward Walter's empty chair. "He would have enjoyed today. Not the cruelty. The young man. Walter always said you could find the future of a place by watching who did the work nobody wanted photographed."
Caleb reached across the table and touched her hand. "You found him."
"No," she said. "I finally saw him. He was there all along."
Across town, Tyler got home after dark. The apartment was on the third floor of an old brick building near a bus route. It had a small kitchen, a narrow living room, and a window over the sink that looked toward the rear parking lot. His mother was resting in a recliner with a blanket over her knees, and Ruth was watching a television game show at low volume.
Denise Brooks looked up when he entered. "You're late, baby. Did they keep you again?"
Tyler set his bag down. "It's a long story."
"Long good or long bad?" Ruth asked, lowering the television volume.
"Both. I think." He sat at the little table and reached for his phone. "Grandma, do you remember the car you bought when Mom was a baby?"
Ruth gave him a look of theatrical offense. "Of course I remember it. It was the first thing I ever owned that didn't come with somebody telling me I couldn't manage it."
"What color was it?"
"Cream. Blue seats. Walter said the engine was tired but honest, and Margaret told me to bring it back if the radio stopped working. Why?"
Tyler held the phone out. The first photograph filled the screen. Ruth leaned forward. Her eyes sharpened, and then she put a hand against her mouth.
"Where did you find that?"
"At Crestline. In the old garage."